


An Easy Reward

by AnxiousPeaches



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blindness, Blood and Gore, Horse Drool as Lube, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mentioned bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousPeaches/pseuds/AnxiousPeaches
Summary: The Entity rewards Kenneth by letting him do whatever he wants with Dwight. Unfortunately for the nervous survivor, Kenneth wants to release all his pent up desires and test out a new mixture.No plot, just smut. Enjoy!
Relationships: Kenneth "Jeffrey Hawk" Chase | The Clown/Dwight Fairfield
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	An Easy Reward

Kenneth Chase's mind ran rampant with vivid fantasies both during the trials and out of them. Anyone else would find his thoughts traumatic; a chaotic nightmare of blood, torture, and neon colors. Years of exposure to terrible chemicals left his brain rotted.

Many believed The Clown had immunity to his noxious fumes. In reality, he gained a high just like everyone else. Instead of sniveling in the grass like a rat, he took  _ advantage _ of the mind-altering state he put himself in.

He loved the feeling of bones crunching beneath his feet while his mind throbbed with chemicals. Each crack sent a wave of pleasure right down to his dick. Blood became more vivid. The screams rang sweeter than any carnie music those rides made.

When the high ended, all he had were blurry memories and the ache for more. Trials ended too soon for him. He didn’t just want four survivors. He wanted eight. Ten. A hundred helpless idiots screaming as he cut into them. Hell, he’d take just one if he were allowed to keep it for more than ten minutes at a time.

Yet, the Entity never answered his needs. The trials would end and he’d be left empty. He’d pat Maurice on the head, stumble into his messy caravan, and pass out in a disheveled, irritated stupor.

In his dreams, he tortured survivors as much as he wanted. No silly rules about hooks. Just helpless, frail little things that’d beg him to let them die as he pried out each of their teeth. He’d shove his cock into their gummy mouths until his cum would shoot down their throat and up their nose. Perhaps use their holes long after they were dead until the skin was too frail to handle his repeated loads.

One day, after a string of perfect trials, Kenneth had a dream similar to that. A nameless survivor struggling in his grasp. His cock jutting into a slit in their cheek. Each one of his violent thrusts made his victim cry out in pain.

However, even within the dream, he could tell something was off. There was a darkness in the corners of his caravan. It whispered a strange language from someplace beyond his vision. It edged him on, delighted in his cruel amusements, and praised him for his good work. A promise for more echoed through Kenneth’s mind as the survivor beneath him scraped at the clown’s bulbous stomach.

A bottle clattered to the ground, shattering into pieces over the wooden floor. Kenneth’s eyes fluttered open at the sound. No one should have been in his caravan.

Whoever they were, they woke him up during one of the few times he got to enjoy himself. He'd been  _ so close _ to finishing. He’d have to kill them for that. The needy hard-on that pressing through his pants twitched at the thought of toying with one of those bratty teenagers. Particularly Julie, with her tight pants and thick glossy lips. His dick craved a good cleaning after the dream he’d just had.

Instead he found himself face to face with one of the survivors he often ended up murdering during trials. A particularly mousey man, with a baby face constantly strained into an anxious expression. He was fairly certain he’d heard one of the other parasites call him “Dwight”.

Dwight yelped when Kenneth stood up from his soiled cot. There was no communication between the two of them. Kenneth saw Dwight as prey. Dwight saw Kenneth as a predator. Those two types never compromised. Their altercation would end in either temporary escape or death.

Dwight stumbled backward as he turned to flee. His worn shoes scuffed across the rotted wooden floor. Glass crunched beneath his feet. He fell forward. Sharp shards slit across the palms of his hands. He struggled to stand up again, glancing back as soon as he heard The Clown laugh at him.

Kenneth didn’t have time to waste. His chubby hands wrapped around a nearby bottle on his desk. An experimental mix of alcohol, cleaning supplies, blood, aged urine, and slimy white makeup he had yet to test in a trial.

He thrust the bottle at Dwight, watching it shatter as soon as it struck his head. Pink and purple clouds burst between them, hanging low to the floor. The liquids that didn’t evaporate sprayed over Dwight’s back and he started to retch at the horrible smell.

In terms of what he needed for a trial, Kenneth felt disappointed. The gas hung too low to affect anyone that wasn’t on the ground. Too much liquid had been wasted, too. However, he became curious anyway when he heard Dwight scream from below.

“What did you do to me?” Dwight cried, clutching his face. His voice sounded like it’d been cut in a blender. Jagged, hoarse, textured. Kenneth’s cock ached from all the foreplay.

Kenneth pulled at Dwight's wrists so he could see the damage. Immediately, Dwight started to shriek for help. He flailed his arms, wildly arching his swings in front of him without any aim.

As cute as the struggle was, Kenneth found himself impatient to see the damage. He settled himself on top of Dwight, his thick thighs squeezing Dwight’s ribs until Dwight sobbed from the pain. Only then did his arms stop flailing. Kenneth chuckled to himself as he admired how quickly Dwight had given up.

While there wasn’t anything superficially wrong with him, Kenneth could see Dwight’s eyes had turned red and flowed freely with tears. His pupils danced about the room, unfocused and terrified. Kenneth flicked his finger to the right of Dwight’s face. Dwight screamed again, recoiling from the sound. Kenneth couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic display.

“You can't see,” Kenneth said, dragging out each word to taunt him.

At first, Dwight froze at the sound of Kenneth's voice. It was the first time he'd ever bothered to speak to the parasites that swarmed his generators like flies to a horse's eyes. When the initial surprise wore off, Dwight summoned his waning strength and swung at Kenneth. His fist bounced off Kenneth's plump stomach. Kenneth barely noticed the outburst of anger. He was too busy wondering what chemicals could have blinded the survivor and whether he could alter the mixture before his next trial.

"Let me go," Dwight gasped. He could barely breathe with Kenneth's massive weight crushing him. "Please, I'll do anything just--"

Kenneth already stopped listening. While Dwight squawked through his bartering stage, Kenneth's examined Dwight's thick fingers. Long and rounded. Blisters at the tips from ages of working on generators. His thumb had a painful looking crack in the nail. Kenneth could already imagine the feeling of his blade slicing through that thick skin, jutting into the bone and eventually cutting straight through it. His dick strained painfully in his pants at the mere thought.

"What are you doing?" Dwight squeaked as Kenneth's heavy hands ripped at the buttons of his office attire. The white button-up easily came undone with the help of a knife Kenneth grabbed from his table.

As soon as the blade cut into the waist of Dwight's pants, Dwight frantically began to fight back. While survivors could never match Kenneth's strength, he did find himself surprised at how quickly Dwight managed to squirm out from underneath him. Dwight shoved his shoes against the wooden floor and propelled himself back just enough to slip free from Kenneth's legs. He scrambled to his feet, ready to run, before immediately slamming face-first into the wall.

Kenneth started to really enjoy his gas's new blinding capabilities. His hearty laugh filled the tiny caravan as he made his way over to his victim. Dwight groaned, clutching his now bleeding forehead. 

As hilarious as it was to watch Dwight blindly flee, Kenneth could feel his patience waning. He liked the struggle as much as anyone, of course, but that's not the reason he got into the delightful hobby of murder. It was seeing the light leave someone's eyes after hours of being subjected to his whims; watching their dazed brains try to confront their oncoming death through a haze of fumes; feeling their bodies melt like putty in his hands. He needed them to become overwhelmed by his very presence.

His desk was where he kept all the experimental mixtures. On the shelf above his bed, he kept the favorites. Those mixtures had been fine-tuned and replicated so many times he knew the recipes by heart. While Dwight struggled to get to his feet, Kenneth grabbed one of his favorites: a pale liquid that smelled strongly of acetone.

As soon as Dwight heard the familiar shaking of a bottle, his body began to tremble. "Don't, please," he gasped. Kenneth could tell from his voice that Dwight was already starting to understand just how hopeless his situation was. Dwight leaned against a wall, feeling along it for the way out. He didn't realize he was actually edging farther away from the door, closer toward the bed that Kenneth planned to ruin him on.

This time, Kenneth made sure the waves of gas would hit him too. He smashed the bottle against the ceiling so that every inch of the room would be filled. The scent of solvent didn't cut through the smell of musk and decay and instead made a sickening combination that went straight to Kenneth's dick. Dwight gagged as it filled his lungs and waved his arms in front of him as ran forward, right into Kenneth's arms.

Dwight tried to scream as Kenneth grabbed him by the arm and shoved him down onto the bed. There were words mixed within the panicked sounds. Shrill cries for mercy. Kenneth kept a firm grip on Dwight's hair as he shoved Dwight's face down into a wet brown stain. The protests grew more desperate but were too muffled to annoy Kenneth's ears. He laughed loudly then, enough so that even Maurice whinnied at the sound.

Dwight's struggles turned weaker and weaker until finally, his arms fell limply onto the stained mattress. Only then did Kenneth let go, confident that Dwight was too dazed to fight back.

Already, Kenneth could feel his own muscles relaxing. While the gas didn't affect Kenneth as much, he knew how easily it overwhelmed survivors. Soon Dwight would melt beneath him and turn into a quivering mess of over-sensitive nerves.

Kenneth quickly began to undress Dwight the rest of the way, cutting his shirt off and pushing his pants down to his ankles. His bandaged hands were rough compared to Dwight's soft skin. He lingered over the scars and bruises from past trials, wondering which marks had been left by him. Then he slid his hand between Dwight's cheeks just to see what he had to work with. Dwight's muscles spasmed momentarily but couldn't maintain any tension. It was a unique effect of the gas that let Kenneth do whatever he wanted.

Dwight let out a groan of protest but stayed still. It seemed like he was trying to speak but the words came out too slurred for Kenneth to understand.

Not that Kenneth really cared anyway. He grabbed a bottle of Maurice's famous drool and set to work. It wasn't for Dwight's pleasure, of course. He simply didn't want to tear his skin and make the whole thing miserable for both of them.

He freed his uncut dick from his pants and gave it a thick coating of his makeshift lube. Flecks of yellow and brown phlegm added color to the disgusting liquid. Poor Maurice's lungs just weren't what they used to be. Aged smegma rolled onto his hands as he jerked his dick back to life, his eyes hungrily watching Dwight's ass. As soon as he'd gotten hard again, he quickly leaned forward to wipe the extra lube all over Dwight's cheek and lips.

Dwight gagged at the smell. It was more putrid that the pus leaking from Maurice's chest. Yet, Kenneth didn't let him have time to compose himself after retching. He forced his dick into Dwight's asshole with one solid push, ignoring any wasteful foreplay or preparation. He knew Dwight wouldn't need it. The gas made  _ everything _ loose, after all.

It also made  _ everything _ feel so much more sensitive. Even Kenneth, who barely felt the effects of his own power, sucked in a breath as his cock throbbed with every sensation. Sometimes after a good dream, he liked to pick up that very mixture and breathe it in while jerking off. It made his roughly bandaged hands feel like velvet across the sensitive glan of his head. 

Back then, he couldn't have comprehended how amazing Dwight would feel.

He couldn't stop himself from grinding into him faster, harder, over and over just to chase that sensation. The bed creaked loudly beneath them as he drew his hips back and then slammed them forward. His mouth hung open. Drool ran down lip and onto Dwight's back. He'd fucked many victims before but never had he felt so lost in the sensation. It wasn't just the gas messing with his head. Dwight's body clung to his dick as if it needed him. 

Dwight sobbed into the mattress as Kenneth all but impaled Dwight on his dick. Kenneth didn't bother to wonder what might have been going on in Dwight's head. He didn't care how Dwight must have ended up in his realm or how he would cope with being so brutally raped. He knew Dwight probably wanted to die already, but after feeling what it was like to be inside him, Kenneth knew he was going to drag it out as long as the Entity would let him.

All the dirty things Kenneth fantasized about were now possible, especially since survivors were far more resilient to death than in the real world. Tie him up to the bed and piss on his naked body. Shove bottles in his ass till they broke. Cum down his throat so many times he puked up jizz. Heck, maybe even force him to give good ol' Maurice some service.

The thought of Dwight's eyes bulging as Maurice split his ass open did Kenneth in. His hips jutted erratically. He could already imagine all the blood and horse jizz flowing freely out of Dwight's wrecked ass. A low moan escaped his lips. Dwight would puke just from the sheer force of Maurice's cock rearranging his guts. The cries from below, the sound of carnival music outside, and the slapping of Kenneth's thighs on Dwight's ass: it was all too much. He fell on top of Dwight, pumping waves of cum into his body.

Only after riding out the waves of bliss did Kenneth look at the aftermath. Dwight's body shuddered as he choked back tears. Cum dripped out his red, irritated hole and down his bare thighs. A few strands of cum leaked from his softening dick onto the mattress. Kenneth let out a chuckle as he reached for his next bottle. Maurice would get his turn later.


End file.
